Signs as Declarations of Love
by benjji2795
Summary: The story of how the "Yo Marry Me Jack Zimmermann" sign affected the Samwell Men's Hockey Team
1. Signs as Declarations of Love

**Summary:** _The life and times of the_ _ **"Yo marry me Jack Zimmermann"**_ _sign_

* * *

 **Notes:**

 _So, originally, when I saw this post (_ _wet-wellie/tumblr/com/post/140698066276/concept-every-time-the-samwell-team-goes-to-see_ _),_ _I was totally like, "I have to write this post into a full fic!" And then I started writing and I got...not that :P Instead I got this fic, and it was heavily, heavily inspired by that post, but it's not based on it._

 _This was not beta-ed, so any mistakes you catch, please let me know! :)_

 _Originally posted on AO3 and Tumblr on March 10, 2016_

* * *

 **i. Shitty**

"Why did you have to bring _that_?" Eric whines as they walk into Providence Municipal Arena.

 _That_ , of course, was a particular sign that had been, perhaps, the source of Eric's most mortifying moment with Jack. It said "Yo marry me Jack Zimmermann," and when someone brought it to their Valentine's Day game last year, Shitty had gone out of his way to obtain it. He paid the person who made it $30 just to get it. Then, he had asked Eric to take it up to his room, which he had stupidly agreed to. When Jack then popped into Shitty's room while brushing his teeth to see Eric standing there with the sign, Eric had wanted to sink through the floor. He wanted nothing more for the sign to be destroyed, but instead, Shitty had insisted on bringing it to their first Falconers game.

"Bits, brah," Shitty grins wickedly. "This sign is a motherfucking _treasure_ that has to be shared."

"No it don't," Eric grumbles, briefly wondering if he can pretend he doesn't know Shitty. But between Eric's Samwell jersey (Jack's old one) and Shitty's Samwell Men's Hockey t-shirt, there's no way anyone would believe him if he tried.

"You know who should be the one sharing this fucking beaut?" Shitty asks, smirking mischievously.

"Who?" Eric says innocently.

"You."

Eric starts coughing, choking on his own spit. _"No!"_

"Oh c'mon Bits," Shitty says, gently smacking Eric with the poster. "You're his literal fucking boyfriend!"

"I'm not-" Eric pauses, swiveling his head around to check if anyone is paying attention to their conversation. "We haven't even been dating for six months! I'm not holding up a sign that asks him to marry me!"

" _Chill_ Bitty," Nursey says.

"Yeah, I don't think he would actually think you were asking him to marry you!" Chowder chimes in.

"Besides, let's be fucking real brah," Shitty says, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "I know Jack, and he's already planning to marry you someday."

"Good _Lord_ ," Eric squeaks. "We ain't even..." When four pairs of eyes immediately hone on him, chirps at the ready, Eric swallows his words. "He's not thinkin' about that yet y'all, trust me."

"What haven't you done yet?" Ransom questions, eyes twinkling.

"We ain't been on a date yet. Jeez, y'all need to-"

"Chill?" Nursey says, grinning.

"I was gonna say get y'all's heads outta the gutter, but that ain't too far off either," Eric sighs, putting his head down as he walks to his seat.

* * *

The first time arena fancam starts up, Shitty leaps to his feet and waves the sign over his head wildly, screaming as loud as he can. Eric covers his eyes and shies away from him. Thankfully, it's not long before play starts up again, and Shitty has to sit back down, and the damage is limited to just those sitting around them.

"Is it too late to change my ticket?" Eric inquires, asking no one in particular.

"Yep brah. Wayyyyyy too late," Shitty chuckles.

"You're stuck with us bro," Holster says, slinging an arm around Eric's shoulders.

"Why do I put up with y'all?" Eric mumbles, pulling his hat low over his eyes.

"Aww c'mon Bits, you love us," Ransom coos, sprawling across Holster's lap to mess with Eric's hat.

"Don't be so sure 'bout that," Eric says, but he's grinning.

"Ouch, you wound me bro," Holster replies, clutching his heart.

Eric laughs. "Alright fine, I love y'all so much, but I ain't gonna say that y'all ain't annoyin' sometimes."

"I'll take it man."

* * *

Around the third time the arena has fancam, during warmups between the second and third period, as Shitty's going through his nutty routine again, Ransom and Holster jump up and start shouting along with him because _dear God, **Shitty is on the jumbotron**_.

The crowd is cheering louder than it has all game, and the Falconers' players all stop and look up at the screen to see what's going on. One of them goes over and nudges Jack, who's still thoroughly engrossed in warming up. When Jack looks up at the screen, Eric sees his shoulders shaking gently as he starts to laugh.

He stops what he's doing and scans the arena, locating them and skating over to the glass.

 _"I love you Jack Zimmermann!"_ Shitty screams at the top of his lungs.

Jack smiles and shouts back "Love you too Shits!" Then he blows Shitty an exaggerated kiss, before turning and skating off.

Eric giggles uncontrollably while Shitty whoops, getting high fives from everyone around them.

 **ii. Ransom and Holster**

Eric hoped that Shitty's appetite would've been appeased after that first game. And maybe it was; Eric's not sure. At the very least, when they went to another game two weeks later, Eric thought he was safe. Shitty wasn't going with them, too busy being murdered by his Harvard midterms, so he figured the sign wouldn't be making an appearance.

He was proved wrong as they unloaded from Holster's Civic outside the arena, because he pulled it out of the trunk just before they started walking up. Eric sighs deeply.

"Shitty gave it to me last time I visited him. Told me they wanted their chance with it," Lardo says, patting him on the shoulder as she walks by.

"Lardooooo," Eric whines. "Did you have to?"

"Yeah. Sorry Bits."

"You ain't sorry at all," Eric harrumphs, observing the small smirk on Lardo's face.

"You're right, I'm not," Lardo grins.

"I don't understand why y'all are so obsessed with that sign," Eric asks in a huff when they catch up with the rest of the group.

"Just let it go," Lardo advises as Ransom and Holster fall in step beside Eric.

"If you start singing bro, I'm going to kill you," Ransom says to Holster over Eric's head.

"You're being a killjoy man," Holster groans.

"If you start, I won't be able to get it out of my head for a week bro. A _week_."

"Whatever man," Holster waves Ransom off. "Anyway, so Bits."

"Shits told us we gotta offer you first dibs on the sign," Ransom says, throwing an arm around Eric's shoulders.

"I ain't touchin' that poster with a ten foot pole," Eric retorts. It's only been two weeks since the last game, and Eric's reasons for not wanting the poster are the same. Ask him in a year, and it might be different, but for now, he's not going to hold that thing if you paid him.

"Alright fine," Holster shrugs.

"Suit yourself," Ransom adds.

They look at each other over Eric's head. "Dibs!" they both shout at the same time.

"No way man," Ransom cries. "Canadian bros get dibs!"

"Yeah, but Jack has a thing for blondes," Holster grins, looking down at Eric. "C'mon Bits, back me up here."

"I am not goin' to be a part of this," Eric squeaks, ducking out from under Ransom's arm. He stops and hangs back to walk the rest of the way with Lardo, watching as Ransom and Holster fight over the sign the whole time.

Lardo sighs as they continue to bicker all the way to their seats. "Why don't you just do it together?" she suggests.

Ransom and Holster's eyes light up as they glance at each other.

"BROOOO!" they yell, high fiving each other.

"Somebody get some paper!" Holster demands.

"And a marker!" Ransom shouts.

They haven't even finished asking when Lardo shoves both into their hands.

"Best manager ever bro," Holster grins, balancing the poster on Ransom's back, using it as a hard surface to write on the paper.

When he's done, Lardo hands them a piece of tape, and the sign becomes "Yo marry _us_ Jack Zimmermann".

"Bro, this is gonna be 'swawesome!" Holster yells excitedly.

* * *

The sign ends up on the jumbotron immediately, and Jack turns around from where he's sitting on the bench to look at them, just a few rows back.

He laughs and shakes his head. "No way am I coming in between your already-perfect marriage," Jack shouts over the glass, the corner of his mouth turned up in such a way that says he's chirping them.

But when Ransom and Holster hesitate, side-eyeing each other, Jack arches an eyebrow questioningly. A teammate taps his shoulder and Jack shrugs, hopping over the boards onto the ice for his shift.

It's-strange that Ransom and Holster wouldn't have a comeback chirp, and after nearly a minute, they're _still_ staring at each other, and Eric wonders what their stunned inaction means, until it dawns on him...

"Oh _Lord_ , you _are_ married!" Eric gasps in shock, covering his mouth with his hands.

"Umm," Ransom stammers, biting his lip. He's looking over at Holster, a pleading look in his eye, but Holster is frozen in place, not doing anything to give Ransom support. _"Holtzy!"_ Ransom whispers harshly, shaking Holster's shoulder.

"Yes!" Holster blurts out suddenly.

From there, it's absolute pandemonium, the entire Samwell hockey team making a terrible ruckus, hooting and whooping and shouting things along the lines of "you're _married_?", "why fuck didn't you tell anyone?" and also "when the fuck did that happen?"

In the middle of it all, Ransom slings an arm around Holster's waist and pulls him into his side. They both look-like kind of frightened, so Eric nudges Lardo. Lardo gives him a questioning look and Eric quirks his head towards the boys in response. Lardo follows the motion and nods.

"Yo, everyone shut the fuck up!" she shouts over the din. Everyone stops shouting and settles down, but all eyes are still on Ransom and Holster.

 _"When?"_ Eric asks as the silence stretches on, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"It happened by accident," Holster mumbles, his cheeks flushing scarlet.

"Spring break, sophomore year," Ransom adds quietly.

Eric wracks his brain for what happened that year and-oh Lord, he's having a hard time not giggling. "Was-wasn't that-when you went to Vegas?" Eric says, his laughter bubbling out towards the end, because _of course_. If anyone was going to get married in Vegas by accident, Lord knows it would've been those two.

Holster nods. "We got super schwasted and...well...y'know...it just happened."

Out of the corner of his eye, Eric sees Dex's eyes go wide, apparently a step behind the group. "You got married? In _Vegas_?" he exclaims.

"Dex, _chill_ ," Nursey says, because Dex is honestly a little too worked up now that the realization has hit him.

"But if you did it in Vegas, how do you know it's real?" Chowder inquires. "My parents had friends that went to Vegas and apparently came back married, but they didn't like, fill the license out correctly or something and so it wasn't real. Maybe that's what happened to you!"

"We had Shits check it out," Ransom shrugs. "It's all legit man."

"That fucker," Lardo mumbles under her breath so only Eric can hear her.

"We were going to like, get a divorce right away but then...like..." Holster starts to say.

"We kinda realized we didn't want to," Ransom finishes.

"Cause like...Ransom's hella handsome and shit and...we were already meant to be like best bros forever so it was like...why not, y'know?" Holster explains, scratching the back of his neck.

"Wait, then why did y'all wait so long to say somethin'," Eric asks, because it's been almost a year and a half and they haven't said a word.

"We thought everyone had already figured it out," they answer at the same time.

"Yeah, we're literally wearing rings," Holster says as they both hold up their hands for everyone to see.

"What did you think they were?" Ransom questions, his brow furrowing.

"I don't know!" Eric replies. "Y'all do all kinds of weird things that y'all say are just 'bro things'. I thought they were like, I don't know, broship rings or somethin'."

"Oh Bits," Holster chuckles.

"Oh Lord, I don't even have a pie ready for y'all!" Eric exclaims suddenly, setting off a round of raucous laughter in the group.

* * *

"You guys made a lot of noise after I went on the ice," Jack says when Eric meets him at his car after the game.

"Well, it ain't every day you find out two of your teammates have been married for a year and a half without sayin' a word," Eric shrugs.

"... _merde_ , you mean they really are married?" Jack asks, looking flabbergasted.

"Yeah," Eric chuckles. "That's why we were all makin' such a racket."

"Wow," Jack whispers. Then, after a second says "Vegas?"

"Uh-huh," Eric nods.

"Of course they did," Jack responds as he climbs into the driver's seat.

"I was thinkin' the same thing!"

 **iii. Nursey**

After that night, the sign is cemented as a tradition among the Samwell Hockey team. They don't go to a game without it. Eric slowly starts to get over his embarrassment of sitting near the guys when they go berserk. But he still doesn't dare to have anything to do with the sign himself.

After Ransom and Holster, it passes to Lardo, Chowder, Ollie, Wicks, and then Mark Case, or Casey, one of the tadpoles. Jack acknowledges them every time, either with a wave, or an imaginary cap tip. Jack enjoys it, and has mentioned to Eric how amusing the Falconers find it. It's a fun little gag, and other than the intense argument over whose turn it is, it doesn't cause much trouble. Eric, despite himself, is starting to grow a little fond of the sign.

Except, then it's Nursey's turn to hold the poster, and it _does_ cause trouble. And to no one's shock or surprise, it's Dex who stirs things up.

"I don't even get why you want to do this," Dex grumbles, a scowl making deep lines in his forehead.

"It's team tradition man," Nursey says nonchalantly. "Get with program, Poindexter."

"But it's _stupid_ ," Dex argues.

"Don't be jealous, you'll get your turn soon enough," Nursey chirps, making Dex flush darkly.

"Who says I want to?" Dex replies challengingly, clenching his fists at his sides.

"That's your choice man. I'm not going to tell you how to live your life," Nursey shrugs.

As they file into their row of seats, Eric quickly squeezes in between the d-men. If he has to witness any fights tonight, Eric would rather they take place on the ice between the players, not between two of his friends and members of his team (not that he wants any of the Falconers to get in any fights).

Sitting between them doesn't do much to stop Dex from glaring at Nursey every time he hops around with the poster in his trademark _chill_ manner. He's on the jumbotron every time, but it's not until the fourth time that Jack notices it, smiling and tipping his imaginary hat to Nursey. Nursey winks in response, and next to him, Eric can practically feel the steam pouring out of Dex's ears.

"It's just a sign man. It's fun, so like, _chill_ ," Nursey sighs as he falls back into his seat.

Eric crawls over the back of his chair into the lap of some random man behind him. Once Nursey told Dex to chill, all bets were off as to what happened next. Eric did not want to be in the middle of it.

"I'm so sorry," he says, standing up.

"I've got friends like that," the man smiles sympathetically. "I know the feeling."

Eric waves at the man and walks back around, stopping short of where Nursey's sitting as their argument starts to pick up speed.

"...you've never had a problem with it before man."

"But you're literally asking Jack to marry you!" Dex exclaims, springing to his feet.

Nursey slowly stands up, momentarily blocking Eric's view. "So? That a problem man?" His voice sounds calm, but his words are slow and measured, like Dex has struck a nerve and Nursey is struggling to keep his composure.

"Yeah!" Dex answers, and Eric notices a twitch in Nursey's shoulder. Eric grabs his arm, not wanting him to take a swing at Dex.

"It's okay Bits," Nursey says, looking at Eric over his shoulder. "I've got it under control."

"I just don't want to see you gettin' into a fight here," Eric says, maintaining his grip.

" _Chill_. We won't," Nursey shrugs. Eric lets go and Nursey turns back towards Dex, taking a small step forward. "So, you saying you got a problem with a dude marrying another dude?"

"Oh fuck off, of course I don't!" Dex says growling through gritted teeth, shoving Nursey back. "We've been through this. I'm not. A. Homophobe!"

"I don't know man, you sound an awful lot like one," Nursey retorts, crossing his arms as he continues to step closer to Dex.

"How many times am I going to have to tell you I'm not?!" Dex responds exasperatedly.

"However many times it takes for you to tell me what your problem really is," Nursey quips, taking one last step. There's hardly any space between the two boys now, and Eric senses a strange feeling charging the air around them. He doesn't want to identify what it feels like, for risk of being horribly wrong, but regardless, it's almost unbearable.

"Okay fine! You really wanna know?" Dex barks, shouting even though they're only separated by inches.

"Lay it on me, Poindexter," Nursey replies coolly.

"My problem is with _you_ holding it, asking Jack to marry _you_!" Dex answers.

Jack is back on the bench, looking back at what's happening. He catches Eric's eye, giving him a questioning look, and Eric shrugs. He doesn't really have a good grasp of what's unfolding in front of him.

"Yo Dex, Bits isn't offended by it, just _chill_ ," Nursey sighs.

"You're a real dumbass, you know that right?"

Nursey shrugs his shoulders. "I've been told once or twice. It's still a stupid reason to be upset man."

"It's not about Bitty, or Jack!" Dex yells angrily. "It's about you. Marrying anyone!"

"Oh har har," Nursey fake chuckles. "It's because no one could ever stand me, right? You're a real comedian, Poinde-"

Eric breathes in sharply, and he catches Jack mouthing "woah."

"Holy shit dude," Holster whispers to Ransom.

"I know bro," Ransom mumbles back. _"Holy. Shit."_

Eric rubs his eyes, checking to see if there's anything in them, because he's not sure if he truly believes what he's seeing.

Dex had grabbed Nursey's face mid-sentence and is now kissing him. _Hard_. Everyone is stunned by what's happening-Nursey apparently included. He's standing stock-still. It doesn't look like he's responding to Dex at all which- _Lord_ , that's not going to be good, at all.

"Whatever man," Dex mutters, breaking the kiss after a few seconds. He turns on his heel and walks down the aisle, towards the stairs that will take him out onto the concourse.

Eric- _goodness_ , he can't even _begin_ to understand what just took place, but he knows that Nursey can't let Dex just walk off. He nudges Nursey gently, pushing him in the direction Dex walked off. Nursey jerkily jolts back to life.

He begins clumsily weaving his way around the people still seated, chasing after Dex as fast as his uncoordinated limbs will let him. Miraculously, he doesn't fall on anyone or elbow anyone on his way down the aisle, and he bolts up the stairs, catching Dex just before he disappears into the concourse.

He grabs Dex's arm, and Dex turns around and jumps, looking (as best Eric can tell from as far away as he is) genuinely shocked that Nursey followed him. There's a moment of intense staring, and then Nursey pushes Dex back into the wall and starts kissing him back.

The entire section of fans, having been watching intently the whole time, erupts in cheers.

Jack shakes his head, grinning slightly as he points to the sign and mouths to Eric "Again?"

Eric laughs and shrugs his shoulders. "I guess so!" he shouts.

Jack gives him a thumbs up before he turns and climbs over the boards.

 **iv. Eric**

It's not until almost the end of Jack's second year in the NHL that Eric takes his turn with the sign.

"Jack?" Eric says while they're in the kitchen of Jack's apartment, just before Jack has to leave to join the team for pre-game.

"Hmm?" Jack hums in reply, looking up from his camera.

"So you know the boys are coming to tonight's game," Eric continues hesitantly.

"Yeah, I know," Jack responds, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well you know how we have that little gag with the _'yo marry me'_ poster," Eric pushes on, avoiding Jack's eyes and focusing on mixing the filling for Shitty's blueberry pie.

"Uh-huh," Jack nods, sounding thoroughly confused.

"Well I was just thinkin'...I'm the only one who ain't done it yet and I want to but I really don't want to make anythin' weird or you thinkin' I'm serious or somethin'. Not that I'm sayin' I wouldn't want to marry you! It just ain't the time and-"

Eric's nervous prattling comes to a halt when Jack presses up behind him, his arms looping around Eric's waist.

"I think it'd be funny," Jack murmurs softly into Eric's neck. "You know, my actual boyfriend holding up the poster that says 'marry me Jack'."

"So it ain't gonna be weird?" Eric asks.

"No Eric, it'll be great," Jack says, pressing a kiss into his jaw.

"Mmmm," Eric groans quietly, because Jack _knows_ how that drives him crazy. "Jack-Jack, I've got a pie to finish and you have to leave soon."

Jack whines softly.

"Later sweetheart, okay?" Eric says, turning around to give Jack a gentle kiss on the lips.

 _"Fine,"_ Jack pouts, full of attitude, and Eric shoves him playfully in response.

* * *

When Eric meets the guys at the arena later, the first thing he does is find Shitty. He has an arm around Lardo, as he stands with the sign.

"I'm gonna do it tonight," Eric says firmly, plucking the sign away from Shitty's grasp.

Shitty's face lights up. "Bits, you glorious motherfucker! It's about damn time you did!" he exclaims, using his free arm to pull Eric into a headlock.

"Alright, alright!" Eric giggles, struggling half-heartedly against Shitty.

"Jack is definitely going to be surprised," Lardo remarks once Shitty is done rough housing with Eric.

"Oh, I already asked him 'bout it," Eric shrugs. "He thinks it'll be funny."

"Bits, _brah_ ," Shitty sighs. "You just took ninety-fucking-five percent of my fun out of this."

" _Listen_. I wasn't about to make Jack freak out for a game, wonderin' what I was doin'," Eric scolds, waggling his finger at Shitty for effect.

"Bitty-"

"You want Jack to play a bad game?" Eric questions.

Shitty deflates. "Okay brah, you're right."

"You better believe I am."

Shitty still mopes the whole walk in.

When they take their seats, Eric watches as the people around them start to buzz excitedly, pointing at the sign. Eric has no idea why, but over the last two seasons, the poster has become something of a legend to Falconers' fans. The Falconers twitter account tweets about it every time it's there. It's been featured on Sportscenter ( _Sportscenter!_ ). The afternoon of every home game, Eric gets thousands of tweets, asking if the Samwell team is going to be at the game. Everyone clamors for the chance to see the mythical _"Yo marry me Jack Zimmermann"_ poster.

To his left, he spots a cameraman giving him a thumbs up, letting Eric know that he's the one responsible for getting the shot.

So when the moment comes, Eric turns and holds the poster up. He doesn't scream. He doesn't wave it around. He doesn't jump up and down. He sits there quietly, holding it up for everyone to see as he blushes brightly. When the public address announcer alerts the crowd, Jack turns and looks. Even though he told Jack ahead of time, Jack still looks surprised, and even trips, something Eric's never seen him do on skates.

Jack regains his balance and skates over to the glass where Eric is sitting. Through his visor, Eric can see that Jack's face is as red as a tomato. The jumbotron screen splits, showing the two of them side-by-side as the whole arena roars.

Jack, breaking with the tradition established since the third game the sign came to, pulls his helmet and a glove off momentarily, softly blowing Eric a kiss.

Eric feigns catching it, smiling shyly. For something happening in front of nearly 18,000 people, it's a surprisingly intimate moment.

Then the whistle blows and Jack jams his helmet back on, heading to the face-off, while the crowds raucous cheering carries on. Eric lowers the sign, and the game carries on.

Jack scores a goal almost immediately after.

* * *

They don't talk about it when the first meet up at the car, waiting until later, when they're curled up in bed.

"I can't believe you knew it was comin' and you still were surprised," Eric says, snuggling his head into the crook of Jack's neck. "I got to see you trip on skates."

"You saw that, huh?" Jack blushes.

"'Course I did," Eric chuckles. "I was watchin' you the whole time."

"I just...I wasn't ready for what it would look like."

"I wasn't ready for what it would feel like, dear _Lord_ ," Eric sighs. "All those eyes on you and me? My heart was poundin' so hard!"

"Yeah," Jack replies, nuzzling his nose in Eric's hair.

"But I...I liked doin' it," Eric says, grinning slightly.

"I did too," Jack mumbles. "I scored a goal right after."

 _"Jack!"_ Eric says, trying to sound indignant, and giggling instead. "'Course you'd make it 'bout hockey!"

"What can I say?" Jack yawns, the corner of his mouth turning up. "It's part of my programming."

"Well, is this part of your programmin'?" Eric teases, stretching up to kiss Jack.

"Oh yeah," Jack smiles. After a few minutes of kissing, Jack pulls away. "Would you keep doing it?"

Eric startles. "What? The poster?"

"Yeah."

"Certainly honey."

 _And maybe one day I'll mean it, too_ , Eric thinks.

 **v. Jack**

And so the tradition of the sign changes after that night. Instead of only coming to games with the Samwell boys, it comes with Eric to every home game for the next three years. When Jack comes out and they make their relationship public, Eric becomes a minor celebrity, an attraction of sorts at games. Everyone wants their moment with Jack's boyfriend, the one holding the _"Yo marry me Jack Zimmermann"_ poster.

At the end of that third year, Jack's fifth season in the NHL, Providence makes it to the Stanley Cup finals. It's a hard-fought series, played against none other than Kent Parson and the Las Vegas Aces, and it's come down to Game 7, played on Providence's home ice.

The whole Samwell gang flies in from all corners of the world to watch Jack play in the most important game of his career. Eric is thankful, because right now, he's just a giant bundle of nerves. He goes through the routine, taking selfies with the poster and signing autographs.

They go through the whole ordeal at its usual time, right before the second period starts. Eric holds up the sign, they show him and Jack on the jumbotron, Jack blows him a kiss, the crowd cheers, and Jack starts the period on fire, almost single-handedly turning a 1-0 deficit into a 2-1 lead.

But with less than a minute in the third period, Kent scores a goal and ties the game, 2-2, taking the wind right out from underneath Providence's wings. And Eric knows the drill; in game close late into the third, he's called upon to give Providence (well, Jack, really) the spark to pull it out in the end.

And it works; Jack puts the game winner in the back of the net with just 7.3 seconds to spare. Jack's teammates dogpile him on the ice, and the guys do the same to Eric in the stands. Eric cries, because Jack once told him this was all he's ever wanted to do since his overdose nearly 15 years ago. He just wanted to play hockey and win a Stanley Cup. He's done that, and Eric so overwhelmingly happy for Jack. It's probably the second best moment of his life, after the time Jack kissed him and he realized that he was going to get his chance with Jack.

He's still crying when the clock runs to zeros. Confetti floats down on the arena, and Eric clings to his friends, and he doesn't realize he's being carried out onto the ice until they set his feet down firmly on it.

And amidst the stray bits of confetti still falling, and the pandemonium of players celebrating around them, there they are, just the two of them, nothing in between.

Jack is smiling softly, and Eric is surprised to see that Jack isn't cradling the Cup. Instead, he's holding a small, white poster with big, bold, black lettering. Eric swipes at his eyes, clearing his vision enough so he can read it.

 **Yo marry me Eric Bittle**

Eric gasps, his hands flying up to cover his mouth, tears beginning to stream down his face again. It's-one day, Eric imagined going out on the ice, carrying _his_ sign, saying to Jack "For real this time." He-oh _Lord_ , he'd never considered that Jack might do it first. That Jack would say no to being the first to hold the Stanley Cup, the thing he's worked his whole life to get, in favor of Eric. In favor of asking Eric to _marry him_.

Eric feels someone gently push him, and he turns around to see Lardo nodding towards Jack. Eric doesn't need to be told twice. He takes off running, going as fast as the ice will let him, his sneakers slipping and sliding the whole way. He bumps into Jack, and Jack drops his sign, using his hands to steady Eric. Eric is about to open his mouth to say yes, when Jack drops to one knee, and he gasps again as Shitty hands Jack a small felt box.

"Eric," Jack says, smiling, his gaze gentle and almost unbearably fond. "I used to say that winning the Stanley Cup was all I ever wanted to do. But for three years, I've gone out on the ice and I've seen you with a sign, asking me to marry you. And every time I thought about it, that was what gave me the most peace. Not winning the Stanley Cup. But spending the rest of my life with you, as your husband. This whole series, it's been clear to me that winning the Stanley Cup doesn't mean anything anymore. Not without you by my side. So, to quote the words I've been seeing for almost five years...yo, marry me Eric Bittle."

Eric can hardly speak, he's so overwhelmed. "Y-yes! Oh Lord, yes!" he manages to choke out as he nods his head rapidly.

Jack quickly slips the ring on his finger and then stands up, scooping Eric up and cradling him like he would the Cup. They kiss in front of the whole arena, everyone cheering louder than they ever did when Eric held up his sign.

 **+1.**

They don't wait long to have the wedding, and by the time the next season rolls around, the old _'Yo marry me Jack Zimmermann'_ sign has gone into its permanent retirement. In its place, there's a new sign:

 **I married Jack Zimmermann!**


	2. What Happens in Vegas - Part 1

**Summary:** _"Ransom and Holster decide to go to Vegas for spring break...It's a decision that raises a few eyebrows in the Haus…okay it's mostly just Bitty, but Holster understands, because he'll admit that a place like Las Vegas is kind of an open invitation for him and Ransom to get themselves into trouble. But it's spring break; they were going to go wild and probably get in trouble anyway, whether they were in Vegas, or say, some place like Myrtle Beach."_

* * *

Summary:

 _"Ransom and Holster decide to go to Vegas for spring break...It's a decision that raises a few eyebrows in the Haus...okay it's mostly just Bitty, but Holster understands, because he'll admit that a place like Las Vegas is kind of an open invitation for him and Ransom to get themselves into trouble. But it's spring break; they were going to go wild and probably get in trouble anyway, whether they were in Vegas, or say, some place like Myrtle Beach."_

Notes:

 _I promised a fic about what happened to Ransom and Holster in Vegas, so here it is! :)_

 _Originally posted on AO3 and Tumblr on March 15, 2016_

* * *

 ** _Spring Break, 2014_**

Ransom and Holster decide to go to Vegas for spring break. They spend weeks begging their parents for the money to go do it, and when they finally cave, they only have a few days to book their flight and hotel. It's frantic, but they get everything taken care of in time, and so _Epic Vegas Spring Break 2014_ becomes a go.

It's a decision that raises a few eyebrows in the Haus...okay it's mostly just Bitty, but Holster understands, because he'll admit that a place like Las Vegas is kind of an open invitation for him and Ransom to get themselves into trouble. But it's spring break; they were going to go wild and probably get in trouble anyway, whether they were in Vegas, or say, some place like Myrtle Beach.

But it's Vegas, and even just their hotel is totally 'swawesome. But they don't stick around for long, racing off to the nearest casino before their bags have even hit the floor. 'Cause _dude_ , it's _Vegas_. It's 1:00, they're both ready to have a wild afternoon. Casinos promise to have unending alcohol, and between them, they have almost $1,000 set aside specifically for the purpose of blowing it all on slots, cards—whatever they want.

They start out on the slot machines because "bro, slots are like the quintessential casino experience!" And it's fun at first, but after two hours Holster starts to get kind of bored, and alcohol can only convince him to keep going for so much longer.

"Bro. _Bro_!" Ransom shouts, tugging on Holster's shirt sleeve.

Holster spins his chair to face the other boy, thankful for the break in the monotony of the last thirty minutes of mindless button pushing. "Rans my man, what's shakin'?" he asks, leaning over to put an arm around Ransom's shoulder. He's been drinking for two hours, and he's halfway to schwasted, which means he's entering the handsy drunk stage.

Ransom, of course, is used to this by now, and doesn't flinch. "Bro, tell me I'm seeing this right," he just asks, pointing his finger at the payout display.

Holster peers at the small rectangular screen, his eyes bugging out of his head when he registers the digits displayed. Ransom hasn't won the machine's jackpot but—he's won $2,500. _"Brooooo,"_ Holster gapes because holy _shit_ is that a lot of money.

"What should I do?" Ransom questions, his eyes flitting back and forth between his options of taking the pay out or pulling the lever to play again.

"Rans, man, you gotta keep going!" Holster urges enthusiastically, gently nudging Ransom's body towards the lever.

"But like...shouldn't I quit while I'm ahead?" Ransom asks uncertainly, his eyes locked on the value of his payout.

"Rans," Holster sighs, shaking his head. "Rans, we did _not_ come to Vegas to play it safe. That is so not 'swawesome."

Ransom shrugs. "Alright man," he says, reaching out and pulling the lever as Holster whoops.

"That's my bro," he grins, clumsily patting Ransom's chest. He knew Ransom wouldn't need much convincing. "Now I'm going to get us some shots, I'll be right back!" Holster declares.

"Make 'em doubles!" Ransom calls over his shoulder as Holster starts to saunter toward the bar.

"You got it man!" Holster yells back, tossing two thumbs up over his shoulders.

He's gone for maybe ten minutes, at the most. But when he comes back, toting double shots of expensive vodka, there are at least four people crowded around the machine that Ransom's been playing on.

"Yo, best bro coming through!" Holster barks, pushing past the people there to stand next to Ransom. "What's going on man?" he asks, handing Ransom his drink.

"Look and see," Ransom says nonchalantly, and then tosses back the double shot in one go.

Holster checks the display telling him how much Ransom's casino card has on it. and it's gone up from just over $2,500 to nearly $7,500.

"Holy fuck," he mutters, leaning heavily on Ransom's chair.

"I don't know what it is I'm doing bro, but I just like, keep winning!" Ransom exclaims in shock, as he gains another $200.

"Keep it up man!" Holster encourages. "This is how we're going to finance the rest of our fun!"

* * *

When they leave the casino at 8:30 PM, Ransom is $17,000 richer than when they entered. Holster stood by his side and watched as the number kept going up and up, only leaving him to go to the bar to get them more drinks. Every time he did, he would come back and Ransom would have won another significant chunk of change. It wasn't entirely perfect though, because at one point, he had as much as $28,000. That's why they'd left so early in the evening: so Ransom didn't accidentally lose everything he'd won.

It was an exciting afternoon, full of drinking and winning, and the end result is that they leave the casino completely schwasted. Over the course of the last seven and a half hours, Holster himself has had at least four beers (though it could be more like seven...he lost count honestly), a double shot of vodka, and a green, _very_ boozy drink that the bartender had suggested he try. And Ransom had kept pace with him drink for drink, and since he gives up two inches and twenty pounds to Holster, that meant he was like, _super_ schwasted.

They're staggering down the Vegas strip, leaning heavily on each other for support. They're lumbering and so unsteady that Holster isn't entirely sure how they're still on their feet.

"Bro, what are we gonna do with all that money?" Ransom asks, his words slow, lazy and slurred together.

"That's the beautiful thing about this place!" he replies, gesturing grandly in front of him and smacking Ransom in the chest by accident, though Ransom doesn't seem to notice at all. "It's Vegas! Anything you can dream up, you can do!"

"But like..." Ransom pauses and licks his lips, and Holster is a little too drunk to pretend he doesn't notice. "Shouldn't we like, maybe do something responsible with it? I dunno, like maybe save it and by Bits like...I don't know, a mountain of butter?" Ransom continues.

Holster trips over his own feet, and they nearly go crashing to the pavement. "Rans," Holster sighs once they've regained their balance. "Bitty will get his butter, one way or another."

Ransom laughs at his accidental rhyme, and it sets him off on a long giggling fit; he's always been a _very_ giggly drunk.

"Let's just—just do what—what we want—while we're here," Holster gasps, struggling to speak through his uncontrollable giggling. "We'll—we'll deal with what's—what's left over—later."

"Okay bro," Ransom shrugs. The motion makes Holster's arm slide out from around Ransom's shoulders, and he goes tumbling to the ground, laughing hysterically the whole way.

It takes Ransom five minutes to get him to his feet again, and then another ten to walk the next block. Holster can't stop laughing, and combined with struggling to walk, it tires him out. There's still three blocks left to get back to their hotel, and he totally needs a break. The collapse on one of the multitude of benches scattered up and down the sidewalks of the strip, taking a breather.

Holster looks around at where they're at, and he notices the church-like building across the street from where they're sitting. It looks familiar, like he saw it online when he was doing his research about Vegas.

"Hey, isn't that the place that does Elvis impersonator weddings?" he asks, pointing at the white structure. At least, he thinks that's what this place was, but he's very drunk, so who knows.

"Dude, like...every chapel on the strip does Elvis weddings," Ransom chuckles, his head lolling and coming to rest on Holster's shoulder.

"Oh," Holster utters in reply.

"You...you ever wonder what an Elvis wedding would be like?" Ransom asks.

"What?" Holster frowns, looking down at Ransom quizzically, because what an...odd question to ask.

"I bet it's gotta be weird, having someone pretending to be someone who's dead performing the...the thingy... _wedding_. Yeah, that's the word," Ransom shrugs, jostling Holster as the other boy's shoulder knocks into his bicep.

"Nah bro, I bet it's cool," Holster argues. "I mean, like, it _could_ be Elvis."

"He's dead, man, give it a rest," Ransom replies, and Holster can almost hear the eye roll.

"Has it ever been proved?" Holster counters, and Ransom groans.

"I'm not having this argument again."

"I'm just sayin' bro."

There's a long lull in the conversation, and Holster's about to stand up again when Ransom pipes up again. "We should like, totally find out what an Elvis wedding is like," he suggests.

Holster startles, because that—he can't be... "You're not saying..." Holster says quietly, biting his lip, heart pounding in his chest.

"It'd make for a great story," Ransom grins wickedly. "Besides, didn't you say coming to Vegas was all about going crazy?"

"I think I said you don't play it safe in Vegas..." Holster mumbles in protest, because that's very different from saying it was about "going crazy."

"C'mon man, if you can't go wild in Vegas, then where can you? And think of the story we could tell!" Ransom says, smacking him on the back in encouragement. "It'd be fucking legendary!"

And well...Holster's brain is riddled with alcohol, and he can't come up with much of coherent rebuttal. To his drunk mind, Ransom is making a lot of sense.

"Okay, let's do it," Holster shrugs, rising to his feet. It's not like these kinds of wedding places are anything serious anyway.

In less than five minutes, they're standing in a small hall. It could hold maybe twenty people at the most, and it's sparsely decorated, mostly in shades of white and pink. There's a flowery arch, and under it stand a man who indeed, looks very much like Elvis.

They both walk down the aisle, such as it is, and belatedly, Holster realizes that they're hardly dressed for the occasion. He's wearing a striped tank top and cargo shorts, while Ransom is wearing a t-shirt and...ugh, those hideous salmon shorts.

"I can't believe you wore those to our wedding!" Holster gasps dramatically. "How could you betray me like this?"

"You're the one wearing a douche tank," Ransom punches his arm.

"Touché," Holster replies. "But true love is marrying someone wearing that monstrosity," he adds, and they dissolve in a fit of giggles, while fake-Elvis looks on with an expression that clearly says, "they don't pay me enough to deal with this shit."

He doesn't wait for them to stop. "Dearly beloved..." he drones to the otherwise empty room, his voice also sounding very much like Elvis.

They don't actually get a handle on themselves until fake-Elvis clears his throat. "It's time for your vows," he says, much to their surprise.

"Uh, we don't have vows," Holster stammers, shaking his head.

"Yeah, this was kind of like, a spur of the moment thing," Ransom agrees.

"Clearly," fake-Elvis says flatly.

"Oh, you know what bro?" Holster blurts out over fake-Elvis, hopping up and down. "I should sing an Elvis song or something! It's like, the perfect punchline man!"

"Hey, that's my job," fake-Elvis objects, but not all that vigorously.

Holster rolls his eyes. "It's our wedding, let us do what we want."

"Yeah man, c'mon," Ransom presses.

Fake-Elvis puts his hands up in surrender. "You know what, I don't even care."

"Bro, you should do something really cheesy like..." Ransom urges, and then pauses, the corners of his mouth turning downward. "I don't think I know any Elvis songs bro."

"Just do _Can't Help Falling In Love_ ," fake-Elvis sighs. "The recording is already queued up. I _was_ going to do it, but since you're both so insistent..."

"'Swawesome!" Holster whoops over the end of his sentence.

Fake-Elvis makes some motion with his hand, and the music starts playing, the gentle plunking of the piano filling the small room. Holster bursts out into his best Elvis voice as the intro ends, and it's pretty damn good; seriously fake-Elvis seems impressed. But it's still exaggerated and silly, keeping with what it is they're doing: getting married by an Elvis impersonator because they were curious as to what it would be like.

 _Wise men say_

 _Only fools rush in_

 _But I can't help falling in love with you_

 _Shall I stay_

 _Would it be a sin_

 _If I can't help falling in love with you_

 _Like a river flows_

 _Surely to the see_

 _Darling so it goes_

 _Some things are meant to be_

 _Take my hand,_

 _Take my whole life too_

 _For I can't help falling in love with you_

As an interlude plays, one that Holster is pretty sure wasn't in the original version, he can't help thinking back over the lyrics. He watches Ransom, gazing into his dark, expressive brown eyes, the same ones he's found himself staring into countless times over the last two years.

He and Ransom are so intertwined in each other's lives. They lean on each other for support whenever they need it, they go to each other whenever something good happens to them, and they go to each other when everything is normal. Holster realizes that it's gotten to a point where he can't even imagine a day when they're not together. He can't picture a future where they're not a package deal, where they're not Ransom _and_ Holster.

In every wedding Holster has ever been to, there's a moment where the officiator directs the two persons involved to make promises to each other. _In sickness and in health_. _For rich or for poorer._ They promise each other to always be there, they say _"to have and to hold, from this day forward, 'till death do we part."_ And it's in this moment that Holster understands, with startling clarity, what he wants. He wants Ransom by his side, forever; so he never has to worry about there being a day when they're not Ransom and Holster.

The thought is so overwhelming that he almost misses his cue to come back in.

 _Like a river flows_

 _Surely to the see_

 _Darling so it goes_

 _Some things are meant to be_

 _Take my hand,_

 _Take my whole life too_

 _For I can't help falling in love with you_

 _For I can't help falling in love with you_

By the time he's finished, Holster's started crying, the emotion of it all too much for him to hold it in. _He's in love_. He's in love, and he's _marrying_ the person he's in love with.

"Bro, are you alright?" Ransom asks, looking surprised and worried about Holster's tears.

Holster pulls his glasses off momentarily to dab at the tears under his eyes. This is his epiphany, and his epiphany only. "I—yeah, I'm great man. Just—it's a great song and—you know how emotional I get," he explains, sniffling heavily as he tells Ransom a half-truth.

Ransom gives him a lopsided grin as he grabs his hands at the direction of fake-Elvis. "Yeah, I know bro. I like, know everything there is to know about you."

"Yeah, you do," Holster snorts, his face cracking into a smile. "You know everything, and you're still willing to be my best bro in spite of that."

Ransom shakes his head. "Not in spite of bro. _Because of_."

"You sure you won't get sick of me someday?" Holster asks, looking down at their joined hands.

"Nah man," Ransom laughs. "You're stuck with me as your best bro forever."

"Absolutely touching," fake-Elvis says dully, looking like he's about to start tapping his foot impatiently. "But there's another couple waiting so we let's get this show back on the road, shall we?"

So the ceremony rushes to its end. They do the traditional vows, making their promises of _'till death do we part_. And Holster knows that they both mean it, but Holster knows he means in it in an _"I love you"_ kind of a way, and Ransom means his in a _"best bros forever"_ way. So when they kiss, after fake-Elvis pronounces them husbands, it's not much, barely even a peck. Holster wishes that wasn't all it was, but he's almost 99% certain his momentous shift inside wasn't mirrored by Ransom.

Fake-Elvis hurries them out, and the lady out in the lobby has them sign their paperwork, and tells them she'll be sending out the copies to the county clerk in the morning. They thank her, and stagger off to the hotel, where they have a few more drinks from the room's minibar, and then pass out.

The marriage license somehow ends up tossed in one of the dresser drawers.

* * *

A few days later, Holster is kneeling as he rummages around the room's dresser, looking for his wallet. He can't find it, and he hopes that it's somewhere in the room, and that he didn't lose it while out gallivanting around Las Vegas the night before. It's probably in the pants he was wearing the day before, but he doesn't know where he tossed them. So he's checking the dresser.

He doesn't find his pants in the dresser though. Instead, he finds a plain white envelope. It's not sealed, and there's no writing on either side. He has no idea what's inside, or where it might have come from.

"Yo Rans, what's this?" Holster inquires, holding it up over shoulder so Ransom can see it. He doesn't know what Ransom packed, and it could very easily be his.

"Uh, I dunno," Ransom replies. "I've never seen it before."

 _There goes that idea._

"What's in it?" Ransom asks, shuffling over to stand behind him, his chin almost resting on Holster's shoulder as he peers down at the envelope in the other boy's hand.

Holster shakes his head. "I have no idea."

"Well then, open it up bro," Ransom urges, reaching around as if to grab it from Holster.

Holster isn't entirely sure why, but he's getting a strange feeling in his chest as he stares at the envelope. "What if it's like, not ours though?" Holster stalls. "What if the people who were in here before left it?"

"What do you think is in there?" Ransom scoffs, making a grab at it. Holster quickly moves it out of his reach. "Aww, c'mon bro," he whines. "Just open it!"

Holster sighs and reluctantly lifts the flap, pulling the enclosed paper from the envelope. He slowly, carefully unfolds the document, eyebrows arching when it reveals the words _"Certificate of Marriage"_ at the top in grand, elaborate script.

"It's a marriage certificate," Holster mumbles, earning him a smack on the arm from Ransom.

"No _shit_ man," he says, keenly snatching the certificate from Holster's hands.

"Wonder why someone would leave that here," Holster muses quietly, staring down at the now-empty drawer while Ransom glances over the piece of paper.

"Uhh," Ransom suddenly stutters.

"What?" Holster frowns, standing up and turning around to face the other boy.

"Nobody left it," Ransom explains, his voice sounding weak and unsteady.

"What the fuck do you mean?" Holster inquires, his heart starting to race.

"If—if I'm seeing this right...it's ours," Ransom says, so quietly it's nearly a whisper.

Ransom seems frozen in place, so Holster walks around to look over his shoulder. Ransom's thumb is just below the names listed...names that are _Adam Birkholtz_ and _Justin Oluransi_.

In an instant, memories start to flash across his mind. The chapel, Elvis, the song, crying, and realizing he's in love.

 _"Oh fuck,"_ he whispers, his knees feeling rubbery and weak, words coming woefully short of expressing what he's feeling right now.

"You're—you're seeing it too?" Ransom asks, standing stock-still as he stares down at the marriage certificate— _their_ marriage certificate that he's holding in his hands.

"Uh huh," Holster says. He's shocked and stunned, and he sounds like it too. Ransom doesn't seem to have any kind of memory of it, but he remember— _everything_ —especially his revelation, of being in love with Ransom, and it's taking everything he has in him not to turn tail and run from this situation.

"Well...we're in Vegas. Maybe...maybe it isn't legit?" Ransom remarks weakly.

"We—we should call Shitty," Holster suggests feebly. Legitimate or not—it doesn't matter, because he's _in love with Ransom_ and—fuck. _Fuck_.

Holster sits down on the bed, his hands shaking as Ransom dials Shitty. There are many ways this situation could play out from here, but in all but one of them, the fact that he's in love means Holster is going to get screwed. The only way he doesn't is if Ransom loves him back and that's well—there's maybe a 1% chance of that happening.

"Yo, Ransom brah, sup?" Shitty says, and it takes Holster a second realize that Ransom has put his phone on speaker.

"Hey," Ransom swallows, and Holster, now hyper-aware of the boy next to him, pretends that he doesn't watch the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he does. "Uh Shits, we've um...we kinda are in a...a pickle."

"Fuck brah, do not fucking tell me that you need me to like, fucking fly to Vegas bail one or both your asses out of some shithole jail cell," Shitty groans, and there's rustling in the background. It sounds kind of like bed sheets, like Shitty hasn't gotten out of bed yet.

"I wish it were that," Holster murmurs before he can stop the thought from escaping his lips.

"Oh shit man, what the fuck did you two do?" Shitty asks.

"We uh," Ransom says, squeezing his eyes shut as he tells Shitty. "I think we got married."

There's a long silence, and Holster glances down at Ransom's phone, wondering if maybe the call was dropped. But they're still connected and then—Shitty starts laughing. Like, laughing so hard that he's making no sound besides the occasional wheeze.

"Oh my fucking God," Holster hears Shitty gasp after nearly five minutes. "That might be the best thing I've heard since spring break started!"

"This is serious Shitty!" Holster shouts angrily, because here Shitty is, laughing at them, while he's possibly on the verge of having a severe panic attack.

"Holtzy, calm down bro," Ransom says, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder. It's meant to be a supportive gesture to help him calm down, but he recoils, shying away from the touch. He—he just can't go there anymore.

Ransom looks confused, maybe even a little hurt, but he shakes his head as if to clear the emotions away and turns back to the phone. "I was just thinking...it's Vegas so, maybe it's not real?"

"Hell nah brah. Vegas weddings are 100% fucking legit man," Shitty replies and Holster feels his stomach drop right through the floor.

"Oh um, okay," Ransom says and immediately hangs up, even though Shitty has started speaking again.

Holster stares at Ransom, at a loss for words for perhaps the first time since he met the other boy.

"What do we do?" Ransom asks him.

Holster flops down face first on the bed. "The fuck if I know," he answers bitterly, his voice muffled by the spread covering the bed.

And it's not that he doesn't know what their options are, because it's a simple choice: they stay married, or they get divorced. He knows what he wants to do, but it's his heart talking there, not reason. He can't speak from his heart right now, because then he risks too much. But they have to make a decision, because they won't enjoy the rest of their trip with this hanging over them. They might not enjoy the rest of their trip anyway, but it's a given if they don't make a choice now.

"I—I hate to say that a divorce is the obvious choice but..." Ransom replies, trailing off into silence.

Holster—he doesn't know what to say, but he can't just be silent. He opens his mouth, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, which is:

"Let's go on a date."

It's a shocking suggestion, even to his own ears, but it—it makes sense, because thinking about divorcing Ransom makes him want to throw up, and he can't just say how he feels and this—well, it allows him to stall for more time, at the very least.

"What?" Ransom says, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Holster takes a deep breath, trying together his jumbled thoughts into a good explanation for what just came from his mouth. He pushes off from the bed and stand up, pacing back and forth across the room.

"Rather...rather than making a decision immediately, let's...let's go on a date and just see...see what happens y'know? Maybe there are some like, romantic feelings there."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that we see if there's...if there's a spark. Anything that tells us that being married might work out," Holster says, running his hands through his hair.

"And if there is?" Ransom frowns, his eyes following Holster's frantic pacing.

"If we think it might work out, then we give it a try," Holster shrugs. "And if only one of us thinks it won't, then we divorce, and that's the end of it."

He says the "only one of us" part, but he really means Ransom. Holster's mind is already made up; he thinks that it they would work as a married couple. But he won't force Ransom into it if he doesn't think they have a shot.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Ransom asks, sighing deeply.

Holster snorts. "Nope, absolutely not," he answers, on the verge of laughter. All of this is unknown, and any choice they make could just as easily be the wrong one as it could be right. "But it's the best I've got," he adds, quitting his pacing to sit down on the bed next to Ransom.

Ransom nods, after a few long minutes spent in uncomfortable silence. "I've got no better option so...I guess we do it."

"Okay...okay," Holster says, exhaling shakily, partially relieved; he's going to at least have an opportunity. There's nothing to say that things won't still crash and burn, but having a chance is better than making the decision now.

"So what—"

"Shhh," Holster cuts Ransom off quickly, knowing what he was going to ask. "Let me take care of it."

If they're going to go on a date, Holster wants the control. He sucks at romance, but he still wants the power to do everything he can to make sure that it knocks Ransom's socks off.

"But you suck at—"

"No buts bro," Holster chides, putting a finger up to Ransom's lips to shush him. He feels like that's a line he shouldn't be crossing right now, but they've never really had any boundaries with each other, so old habits... "Go do like, whatever you want and I'll get it all figured out. Just like, come back to the room by 3:15."

Holster is already on his feet and halfway out the door when he hears Ransom call, "But you're terrible at romance!"

"No I'm not!" Holster yells back down the hallway as he jams the button on the elevator, even though it's a lie. But the hotel has a dedicated staff person who's a professional at these things. He'll seek help, and it'll be 100% romantic, regardless of whether Holster himself is any good at being romantic himself.

Once the elevator reaches the ground floor, Holster comes flying out of it, headed towards the concierge desk. He's moving faster than he probably ever has before, because his time is limited. He might be moving so fast that his feet aren't even hitting the tile, and he's just floating on top of them.

"Need romantic date ideas, stat," Holster says breathlessly, leaning up against the desk.

The concierge, a middle-aged graying man with wire-rimmed glasses, startles. "Excuse me sir?"

"What ideas do you have for a romantic date for you and your bro who you accidentally married and desperately want to stay married to but said date has to be so incredible that it convinces him to stay married to you?" Holster says, the words coming out in a rush, as if only one word.

"Sir, you're going to have to slow down," the concierge says with a frown.

"No, no, don't worry Matt, I got it," a younger looking woman interjects as she walks over to them. She has curly blonde hair and is wearing four inch heels that bring her height up to a whopping 5'1", along with a nametag that says Sally, and indicates that she's the manager on duty. "You need a killer date to convince this someone to stay married to you."

"Exactly!" Holster exclaims a little too loudly, forcefully bringing his palm down on the countertop for emphasis.

"Hmm, I think I can help you," she smiles. "Come with me and we'll see what plans we can whip up."

Holster follows her down a long hallway, into a small office. "I have to say, you're the first person I've ever met who got married in Vegas by accident, and didn't immediately ask for the nearest divorce lawyer's address," she says as she settles down at her desk, her head disappearing behind her laptop screen.

"Oh, there must be a few," Holster reasons.

"No, there really aren't," she chuckles. "If there were, trust me, I'd remember them. That's the kind thing that sticks out in this town."

"Wow," Holster gapes, because seriously? Everyone who accidentally gets married in Vegas gets divorced?

"Yeah," she replies. "Now anyway, back to your date. Let's see...among the things to do in Vegas, those that are considered the most romantic would be the High Roller, gondola rides, the fountain show at the Bellagio, and of course, more romantic restaurants than you could possibly imagine. Which of those appeal to you?"

"Uh...all of them?" Holster answers slowly, uncertainly. His instinct says that he shouldn't just pick one, and—they're all supposed to be romantic, so he wouldn't be in trouble if he followed his instinct this time, right?

"Well, if you have time, you certainly can do all of that," she remarks, leaning over and glancing at him from around her laptop.

"We have time," Holster responds quickly. "We can do all of those things...unless you think it's too much?"

He might as well ask, it's why he came down here in the first place. She's not the concierge, but she still seems to be an expert.

"I don't think it will be. Look, I'll be honest. Simply from the fact that she's—"

"He. His name is Ransom. Well, it's Justin, but I call him Ransom," Holster interjects.

"Well, since Ransom is willing to do this with you, it gives me a good feeling about how this will turn out," she grins as she begins to rapidly tap away at the keyboard.

"I hope...I hope you're right," Holster sighs.

"Just give me a few minutes and you'll be all set," she says. "And I'm almost positive I'm right. But if I'm not, you can always come and find me. I'm the on-duty for the next two days, so I'll be right here for you to yell at if I'm wrong."

"Thanks," Holster says. "I probably won't, but it's nice to know that I could if I wanted to."

"Alright, so here's an itinerary for you," she says, handing over a sheet of paper and guiding Holster to the door. "Best of luck to you."

Holster nods and then sprints back to the room. When he gets there, it's empty, save for a note that Ransom left:

 _Went to check out some of the stores we passed earlier in the trip. I'll be back in time._

 _Rans_

With his itinerary all set, and not that much time left before Ransom will be back, Holster quickly heads to the shower, grooming himself to put on his best face. Dressed up in the best outfit he brought on the trip, Holster sets out Ransom's best clothes (lest he think this is a good time for those dreaded salmon shorts to make another appearance), and sets a note on top before he exits the room for the lobby.

 _Wear this please. Meet you in the lobby_

 _Holtzy_

He spends nearly a half hour anxiously wandering around the lobby, waiting from Ransom to come down and meet him. He's never been this nervous before in his life, but so much rides on the rest of the day. He doesn't want his heart to get shattered, and so he has to do everything in his power to convince Ransom that their marriage is a good idea. He knows he's putting forth his best effort, but the scariest part is that it might not be enough. He might do everything right, and still fail miserably, because at the end of the day, Holster can't dictate to Ransom how he should feel about him.

He has to sit down and focus on his breathing, and by the time he's calmed down, Ransom finally appears. And he looks incredible. Not to say that he doesn't look great normally, but...usually, Holster is trying to pretend he isn't looking, like he doesn't notice how good Ransom looks every day (Holster was an expert at lying to himself when it came to Ransom, right up until the wedding happened).

"You look great!" Holster blurts out as he springs to his feet, because step one to any successful date is to complement their outfit.

"I should hope so, since you picked it out bro," Ransom chirps him, punching his shoulder lightly. "You're looking pretty sharp yourself Holtzy."

Holster blushes, because it's _Ransom_ , and he just said he looked _sharp_ and _shit_ , he might pull a Bitty and swoon right here in the lobby. "Thanks," he mumbles, as he feels his insides turn to warm goo.

Holster quirks his shoulders towards the door and starts walking. He's about to shove his hands in his pockets, but Ransom suddenly appears beside him and intercepts it. Holster gives him a questioning look, and Ransom shrugs.

"If it's a date, I'm going to do it right," he says. And Holster's not going to complain. Ransom's hand is large, but it's soft and warm, and he loves the way it fits into his own, their fingers twined together as they walk out of the hotel.

"So tell me man, what do you have planned?" Ransom inquires.

Holster stops because, _shit_ , what were they supposed to do first? His brain is going crazy with Ransom complimenting his looks and holding his hand, and honestly he can't think at all. It's a good thing he thought ahead and shoved the itinerary Sally gave him in his pocket before he left the room.

He pulls out the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, clumsily smoothing it out with one hand (because he is _not_ letting go of Ransom's hand, not until he absolutely has to). "Oh um, we're going on the High Roller first," he says, carefully watching Ransom's face for his reaction.

Ransom grins, and Holster feels relieved, until he hears what Ransom says in response. "Bro, I thought you were scared of heights."

Oh _fuck_ , he totally forgot that he's fucking _terrified_ of heights. And he doesn't know how tall the High Roller is, but he's seen it and it's _tall_. He gets scared on the itty-bitty Ferris wheels at the fair, for crying out loud.

"I am, I just...I dunno, forgot?" Holster stammers, blushing again, this time out of embarrassment.

"How do you just _forget_ that you're afraid of heights?" Ransom chuckles, playfully nudging Holster with his shoulder.

Holster shoots Ransom a dirty look. "I was told it's really romantic and I knew I wanted us to go on it and I—I didn't stop to think about how tall it was."

"Look bro, romantic or not, we don't have to go on it," Ransom comments concernedly, gazing at Holster with soft, understanding eyes.

"No man, I mean look," Holster says, craning his neck up to look at the giant Ferris wheel, aka the "High Roller". He swallows before he says "It's not even that tall. I'll be fine."

Ransom examines him skeptically. "Holtzy, you're already shaking," he frowns.

"I'm just a little chilly, is all," Holster lies, because it's not cold. It's 75°F.

"Holster—"

"I'm serious, I'll be fine," Holster says sharply, pulling Ransom into the line. "You told me you wanted to go on this, and it's romantic, so we're doing it bro."

"Okay..." Ransom says disbelievingly, as Holster desperately tries to forget that the ride lasts thirty minutes.

When they get on, at first, it's not too bad. The buildings surrounding them block the view of how high they are, and so he's fine, even if he is a little shaky from the nervous build-up. And then it rises above the skyline, and their view of Las Vegas is perfectly clear.

And he's absolutely awed and terrified. The wheel has made maybe a quarter of a rotation, so they're only about halfway up. But he tries to act like he's not frightened; he told Ransom he could handle this. He wants Ransom to be able to look out on the city, enjoy the view, not be preoccupied dealing with his date having a breakdown over his fear of heights.

"Holster, bro, you're shaking again," Ransom points out, concern writ in his expression.

Holster shrugs. He's not hyperventilating yet, so that's a good sign that he's handling it better than he thought he would.

But they keep climbing higher and it's getting harder to stay calm. He really doesn't want to freak out, but he honestly thinks there's no way he's not going to. Right about the moment he's sure he's going to lose it, Ransom puts an arm around his shoulders, and Holster has no reservations. He turns and puts his face in Ransom's shoulder, holding onto the other boy tightly, and he starts to feel calm again.

He expects Ransom to laugh at him, or maybe say "I told you so", but he doesn't. It seems like he doesn't even think about it, simply letting Holster cling to him as he rubs slow, soothing circles up and down his back.

He doesn't know how long they sit there like that, but at some point Ransom nudges him.

"We're almost back to the bottom," he says.

Holster slowly pulls himself away, sitting up as he waits for their signal to get off. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. Ransom spent almost the whole time having to worry about him, and there was absolutely no way that was fun or romantic at all.

"Nah man, don't be," he replies, smiling softly, and it looks incredibly fond, but Holster thinks he might just be reading that into his expression. "I'm impressed you were even brave enough to get on, let alone manage the whole ride without like, passing out or something."

"Don't chirp me," Holster grumbles.

"Yo, there was no chirp intended bro," Ransom frowns. "I really meant it."

"Brave or not, I still ruined the whole thing," Holster sighs.

"You really didn't."

"You're just being nice."

"When have I ever been anything but brutally honest with you bro?" Ransom counters, and he has a point. They're always honest with each other; the fact that they're on a date shouldn't change that. Just add that to the list of things he's messed up so far.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Holster says, hanging his head in shame.

"It's cool man," Ransom shrugs. He pries one of Holster's hands out from where they are clasped in his lap and pulls him to his feet. "It's time to go."

As they exit and begin walking, Holster's body finally starts to unclench, but the knot that's formed in his stomach doesn't. He really hopes that their next activity goes better than that just did.

"Where to next bro?" Ransom questions.

"Guess."

"Aww man, c'mon, you know I'm not good at guessing games!" Ransom protests, tugging on Holster's arm like a little kid.

"Fine, I'll give you a hint. Venice," Holster grins.

"What kind of hint is that?!" Ransom exclaims, faking an indignant tone.

"Bro, it's not that hard," Holster chides gently, shaking his head. "Just think. What is Venice famous for?"

"Uh, canals..." Ransom pauses, his face screwing up in concentrated thought (it's really cute, but Holster rarely ever sees it, unless Ransom is in coral reef mode, and then he's too focused to notice). He suddenly snaps his fingers. "Gondolas!"

"Yup!"

"'Swawesome bro!"

Ransom is excited, and Holster is again, relieved. Maybe the High Roller was a disaster, but surely the gondola ride will make up for it!

They climb into the boat as soon as they get to the dock, and they pull away from the small wooden pier as the rower begins to sing, sappy romantic Italian songs, and it's exactly as Holster imagined it...at first.

They're sitting across from each other, holding hands, staring into each other's eyes and smiling like something out of a clichéd romance novel. But then Ransom's smile starts to fade, and Holster frowns.

"What's wrong man?" he inquires, the knot in his chest which had started to ease, twisting and tightening again.

"It's—I just don't feel so great," Ransom scowls.

"You didn't have anything crazy for lunch, did you?" Holster frowns, because if Ransom had gotten food poisoning or some shit like that, that would just be the _worst_.

"No bro, not at all," Ransom answers, starting to look green. "I—I've only been on a boat once before and I was like...super, _super_ seasick."

"Oh shit man, I didn't know," Holster says, feeling angry with himself. How did he not know that? He should have! If he did, then he wouldn't have put someone who gets seasick on a boat, for crying out loud!

"Well you wouldn't think it would be a problem bro. Like, the water's perfectly calm," Ransom says, staring at the water's glassy surface disdainfully.

"You would not be the first," the rower shrugs, handing Ransom a bucket that was stowed under where he's standing.

"Oh, I don't think..." Ransom starts to say.

"Please take it," the rower implores. "This thing is a pain to clean."

Ransom takes it and then...well, he ends up immediately making use of it. Holster immediately moves to sit next to him, nearly tipping the gondola over in the process.

"How much longer?" Holster asks, using one had to rub Ransom's back, and the other to massage his temples, because he's getting a headache. This was _not_ how any of this was supposed to turn out.

"Ten minutes, if I go fast."

"Please."

* * *

Ransom feels fine once he gets back on dry land, and so Holster, after he spends a good five minutes fussing over him (which Ransom finds makes his whole body feel warm), he whisks him away to dinner.

And luck is not on their side at dinner either. They get Nick as their waiter, and he might be the clumsiest waiter Ransom has ever had the privilege of being served by. He knocks over Holster's water glass and spills wine on his shirt, and act he then follows up by dropping an entire plate of food on Ransom. He doesn't really mind, but Holster is fuming. Ransom can almost see the smoke pouring out of his ears. Ransom lays his hand on top of Holster's and tells him to calm down, and he doesn't know how well that works, but at least Holster doesn't explode at Nick.

After dinner, Holster drags him to the Bellagio to watch the fountain show, in spite of Ransom's protests. They're wearing wine- and food-stained shirts, and they have no reason to expect that this will work out either. Ransom suggests that they just quit before they fall farther in time, but Holster is bound and determined that he gets at least one thing right. It's honestly endearing how hard he's trying, how much he's _still_ invested in making this day as perfect as possible.

They're watching the show, the myriad of colors and wild water tricks, and Holster leans over in the middle of it all. "I'm so sorry man," he whispers.

Ransom waves his hand dismissively; Holster has already apologized way too many times today. Not to mention that today was just so _them_ ; this is just the way their best laid plans have a habit of turning out. "Shit happens bro. Don't sweat it."

"I just...I tried really hard to make this whole thing perfect, you know?" Holster sighs deeply, shoving his hands in his pockets as his shoulders slump forward in defeat. "But nothing worked out at all. I guess that just means...it's not meant to be."

Ransom frowns. Sure, the whole afternoon and evening went against the script Holster probably pictured in his mind. But having Holster clinging to him on the High Roller, while he looked out over the city was really, really—well, all he could think to say was nice, but that didn't really cut it. And when he was seasick, throwing up into a bucket on the gondola, Holster tried to do everything he could to make him feel better. And he took him to a fancy restaurant, even set it up so they could have candles at the table (candles that were quickly extinguished due to their graceless waiter).

He put so much time and thought and effort into the things they did, but it was in the moments that everything went wrong that it was perfect. Ransom knows Holster wanted everything to go right, but he honestly wouldn't have wanted the day to go any other way than it did.

Because Ransom knows in his heart that that's what their life would be like, if they stayed married. It would mostly be a collection of things that went wrong, and how they handled it together was what mattered most. And with Holster...things that went wrong wouldn't ever feel like bad things. He'd make the things that went wrong better.

That's really what he'd been doing all along for Ransom, almost from the very first day they met. They just clicked and as he looks at the boy he calls his best bro, upset and close to tears, Ransom realizes. Ransom doesn't believe in coincidences and random happenstances. If they got married, accident or not, it's what was supposed to happen. This... _this is what they were meant to be_.

"Adam," Ransom says, and Holster instantly turns his head at his first name. His first name that, until now, Ransom has never used.

"What?" he asks, eyes shimmering behind his glasses, and he looks just...so _beautiful_ and Ransom just knows.

And he could never explain everything he feels in this moment, so he leans over and kisses Holster, just as the show begins its grand finale. The timing is poetic justice, because just as the water of the fountain explodes all over the place, Ransom feels his love and affection well up and explode out of him, flowing into the smooth slide of his lips, and the gentle touch of his fingertips on Holster's hips.

 _"Wow,"_ Holster says breathlessly when they break the kiss.

Ransom grins as Holster's hands curl around his shoulders. "So man, what do you think? Should we give being married a go?"

"Really man?" Holster chuckles. "You have to ask?"

"Hey, I didn't want to assume anything," Ransom shrugs, smiling broadly.

"I love you," Holster says. "I asked you to do this date thing with me. The whole point was literally to convince you!"

"I didn't need that much convincing man," Ransom shakes his head fondly. The crowd that was watching the show has started to clear out, but they're in no rush to get moving. "I love you too, you know."

Holster's face lights up as he says it back, and it's honestly a face he'd like to see more often. But at this moment, there's something more pressing on his mind.

"You know something Holtzy?" he says.

"Hmm?" Holster hums.

"I don't remember much about our wedding night, but something tells me we might have missed a step," he continues with a smirk.

Holster's eyes darken immediately in recognition of what Ransom's implying. "I do remember, and I can tell you that we definitely missed a step."

"You remember our wedding and I don't?!" Ransom squawks unhappily as Holster starts towing him back to the hotel.

"It was touching bro, but right now that's not important. I'll tell you all about it later," Holster says quickly. And well, Ransom can't really disagree, and they take off on a sprint to their hotel.


	3. What Happens in Vegas - Part 2

**Notes:**

 _So now there will be three parts...I figured I'd give y'all this to tide you over until I can get the rest of it finished._

 _Also, fair warning, my smut can get pretty graphic...not like gross or anything, just very descriptive. So if you don't like that or it makes you uncomfortable, you are under no obligation to read._

 _Enjoy y'all! :)_

* * *

Holster feels as if he's going to vibrate out of his skin as they run back to the hotel. He also feels as if he might die if he can't touch Ransom this very second, but unfortunately they have to get back to their room first.

Holster is definitely still in shock from the events of the last couple hours. First, they found out they were married, faced with the very real prospect of getting a (to Holster) heartbreaking divorce. Then, they were going on a date because he had been nuts and suggested that rather than getting divorced. Now, they were rushing back to the hotel to consummate their marriage, so to speak.

It's a lot to process, and Holster is not even trying at this moment. Right now the only thing he can think about is how much he wants to have his clothes off this second, wants to have Ransom's hands all over him, wants to have Ransom inside of him, or be inside of Ransom; it doesn't exactly matter. He just wants—no, it's more critical than that. He _needs_.

Their hotel room is on the seventh floor of the building, quite the hike under any normal circumstance, but this isn't a normal circumstance. Neither of them can be bothered to wait for the elevator to possibly come down from the 20th floor. Instead, they lock eyes and immediately head for the stairs, dashing up them two at a time to the seventh floor.

Holster's impatience hits its peak when they reach the door of their room; they're so close, but they're so far away from relief. He frantically digs through his pockets, looking for his room key, and Ransom does the same, finding his first.

He jams it into the card slot and the light blinks green, accompanied by a soft beep. Ransom pushes down the door handle with a loud clatter, and before Holster can blink, he's dragged into the room and pressed up against the door while it's still swinging closed.

Ransom's hands settle on Holster's hips, and he presses his mouth, warm and wet, onto Holster's. Ransom kisses with such intensity that at first, Holster struggles to keep up, his hands gripping Ransom's shoulders tightly.

They kiss hot and hungry, the release of almost a year and a half of building sexual tension that Holster didn't even realize they had until just this moment; he doesn't think there's any other way to explain the sudden explosion of passion between them. Their tongues roam and explore each other's mouths, and they gasp for breath in between desperate kisses.

Holster kisses Ransom like he might never get to kiss him again. Just this morning, Holster never thought he'd get to have this, period, so perhaps somewhere in the back of his mind, he's still afraid that this then might be the _only_ time, not simply the first.

All thought along those lines stop the second Ransom's thumbs slip underneath the hem of his shirt, pressing into the bare skin above the waistband of his jeans. In a good way, his touch burns Holster, leaving him wanting Ransom to touch and burn every square inch of skin on his body.

Suddenly aware that they're wearing far too many clothes for that to be an easy task, he removes his hands from Ransom's shoulders and slides them underneath Ransom's shirt. He relishes in how Ransom shivers as his hands skim up his sides, taking the shirt with them. Ransom raises his arms and Holster pulls the garment off, tossing it to the side in favor of exploring the feeling of Ransom's chest under his hands.

As he does, Holster begins kissing his way down Ransom's body, moving from his mouth to his rough, stubbly jaw, down to his Adam's apple, pausing to suck on it gently for a moment. From there, he moves to one of Ransom's collarbones, gliding his hands down the plane of his back, cupping his ass just as he bites down softly on his collarbone.

" _Holtzy,"_ Ransom gasps, his hips jerking up as Holster's hands squeeze his ass. The thrust causes Ransom's cock to brush up against Holster's, and Holster moans into Ransom's shoulder as it sends a flash of searing heat through him.

Alternating between biting, sucking, and licking, Holster works until there's a sizable hickey present on Ransom's skin. Examining it, and satisfied with it, Holster then turns his attention to Ransom's other collarbone.

"Oh God, _Holtzy_ ," Ransom says again as Holster bites down. Ransom begins to tug at the collar of Holster's shirt, and Holster decides that the second hickey can wait until later. He breaks away from Ransom, grabbing the hem of his shirt and clumsily pulling it up over his head. While he's at it, he quickly removes his shoes, a move that Ransom mirrors.

Not knowing exactly where they're going next, but knowing that whatever they'll do, it'll probably be more comfortable on a bed, he grabs Ransom's hand, leading him over to the bed closest to the door (which, coincidentally was his the night before). Standing face to face at the foot of the bed, Holster gives Ransom a gentle push. Ransom takes the hint and willing flops down onto the mattress.

Ransom's feet plant themselves firmly on the floor, his knees just hanging off the bed. He props himself up on his elbows as Holster spreads his legs, just enough so that he can stand between them.

Standing over him, Holster bends down and cups his cheeks, kissing Ransom earnestly, tongues fighting each other. Meanwhile, one of Holster's hand trails down Ransom's chest, towards the place where Ransom's erection is fighting against the restricting fabric of his pants. Teasingly, Holster traces its outline with a finger. Ransom shudders in response, his dick twitching from arousal. He retaliates by running his hands up and down Holster's chest.

Holster gives Ransom's cock a brush from his hand up the whole length, ripping a wrecked moan from Ransom's throat, a sound that travels straight from Holster's ears to his own straining dick. Giving Ransom one last kiss, Holster then pulls back to kneel between Ransom's legs.

Staring up at Ransom, Holster begins to slowly palm Ransom through his pants, his other hand caressing Ransom's thighs. Ransom's eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open, letting out short pants.

His own pants feeling far too tight given how hard he is, Holster pauses. When he does, Ransom's eyes instantly snap back open.

"Don't stop Holtzy," Ransom whines, grabby hands reaching out for him.

Holster grins at Ransom's eagerness. "Just a second," he replies, fiddling with his belt so he can shuck his own pants off before taking Ransom's off.

Holster tosses his pants to the side just as Ransom says, " _Wow_ , you look so fuckin' hot bro." Holster blushes in response as he undoes the button on Ransom's jeans. Hooking his fingers under the waistband of his underwear, he yanks, pulling both down and freeing Ransom's cock.

Now it goes without saying that Holster has actually seen Ransom's dick before. When you're on an athletic team, sharing a locker room with twenty or so other guys, it's bound to happen. In fact, Holster had been everyone's dick on the Samwell Men's Hockey team without trying to (except for maybe Bitty; but it's understandable why he might not be as comfortable with the whole "gratuitous nudity in a locker room" thing; growing up in a homophobic culture would do that do you). But it's one thing to have accidentally caught a glance of Ransom's soft dick in the locker room, or even in their shared bedroom (it happens every so often); it's something else entirely to be seeing it now.

Precome already glistening and coating the head, it lays against Ransom's chiseled abs, twitching in excitement. Needing a minute, Holster simply stares, trying to cope with what he's seeing.

Obviously, Holster does not have a ruler to measure it, but if he had to make a guess, he'd say Ransom's dick is about nine inches in length with a girth of at least an inch. It's big—really that's an understatement. It's fucking _huge_. Holster has never seen a dick quite that size in person before.

Holster can't help whistling in awe. " _Dude_! Your dick is literally so fucking big."

Ransom blushes, red overtaking the usual ochre skin tone of his cheeks. "It's not really," he mumbles.

"Bro, I'm serious! I swear I've never seen a dick this massive in person before!" Holster says, partly to convey just how serious he is (and also because he likes seeing Ransom blush).

Ransom's eyes lower from Holster's face, clearly glancing down at Holster's still-clothed crotch. "Yours is pretty big too, bro," he replies, sitting up to look at it more closely.

Holster flushes, a rosy pink color appearing on his face and spreading down his neck and onto his chest as he full-body blushes.

"May I?" Ransom asks, his eyes darkening as he places a hand on Holster's hip.

Holster bites his lip and nods in reply.

Ransom swiftly hooks a finger under the band and pulls them down, licking his lips as he gazes at Holster's cock. Bracing himself with a hand on Holster's abs, Ransom cranes his neck forward and drags his tongue up the underside of Holster's cock.

Ransom swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, and air escapes Holster's mouth, passing through his gritted teeth and making a loud hissing sound. Ransom reacts to this by repeating the action, licking up the underside and around the head.

His eyes having already fluttered shut, Holster has no warning when Ransom wraps his mouth, warm and wet, around his cock. His lips slide down the length, sucking gently as he goes.

" _Fuck_ bro," Holster moans when Ransom begins to bob his head up and down, mouth sucking on his cock pleasurably, two fingers wrapped around the base where his mouth can't reach.

"Oh my _God_ ," Holster sighs, a steady stream of curses and praises flowing in response to the best blowjob of his life. Like, Ransom is really fucking good at this. Actually, he's probably just a little too good, because Holster is already starting to feel his orgasm building at the head of his dick. "R-Rans," he says breathlessly, putting a hand on Ransom's head, gently pushing him off.

Ransom's mouth comes off his dick with a quiet pop. "You okay?" he asks, glancing up at Holster from where he's sitting on the bed, looking so beautiful Holster can hardly stand it and fuck, he's so in love with this man.

"I was—" Holster answers, not really sure what to say with all the thoughts that are swirling around his head.

"Oh, gotcha," Ransom says, apparently reading him perfectly and proving that even during sex, their near telepathy will still work extremely well.

"Yeah," Holster replies absently.

Ransom stands up, his cock grazing Holster's thigh on the way up, and the sudden jolt of arousal brings Holster fully back to the present moment.

"Okay so—what do you want us to do now?" Ransom asks as Holster meets his eye.

It's a hard question for Holster to answer. He feels like their first time would be incomplete without having penetrative sex, but then again Ransom might not like that and he doesn't want to make him feel uncomfortable. And, as good as he thinks it would feel to Ransom's cock inside him, Holster is definitely a little intimidated by its size.

"Tell me what you want and we'll do that," Holster shrugs non-commitally.

"I mean, I guess I can do both, but I usually have a preference for bottoming," Ransom answers. "But I really didn't like, prepare to have sex or anything—"

"I actually did," Holster says matter-of-factly. He prepared for every potential situation prior to their date, ranging from things becoming so awkward he would've needed to leave, to this (which, he'll be frank, he didn't expect to happen at all). "So then, how about this time, you fuck me, and the next time we'll flip."

Ransom thinks for a second and then nods. "Yeah, that makes sense bro."

In anticipation, Holster crawls onto the bed and adjusts the pillows so that his upper body will be adequately supported. When he's finished, he turns around and sits back against them. Looking up, he finds that Ransom is still standing at the foot of the bed in a daze, and Holster realizes he did just give Ransom a pretty good show of his ass the whole time he was messing with the pillows.

"Dude, you got lube and any condoms?" Holster questions to snap him out of it—and because the definitely need both those things.

Ransom jolts into awareness. "Oh, ch'yeah," he says after a moment, striding over to his suitcase. He comes back to the bed with both things in hand. He clambers up, settling between Holster's legs, lifting each one up so that they're resting on his shoulders. "You know I always do," he adds.

"True," Holster grins. "I was just afraid that looking at my ass might have caused you to forget."

"I did not forget!" Ransom protests. "It just that like—well, bro, we all know that Jack has the best ass in the entire world, but yours is a masterpiece. Like, I swear, it's a close second," Ransom says, slapping it lightly.

Next, Ransom moves to tear open the condom, but Holster quickly reaches out and grabs his wrist to stop him. "It's been a while Rans," he says. "I need you to work me up to it."

"Oh, right, of course," Ransom says, smacking his forehead lightly.

Flicking the cap off the bottle of lube, Ransom squirts out a copious amount onto his fingers and coats them. His finger circles Holster's hole, and then he gently presses it in. One finger isn't much, and doesn't really bother Holster at all. Even so, Ransom goes slowly, fucking in the finger in and out, giving him a chance to adjust.

But Holster is so aroused, and one finger feels wholly inadequate. He squirms uncomfortably. Ransom looks at him questioningly. "More," he grunts to clarify for Ransom what his action meant.

Ransom nods, obliging by pushing a second finger in. It stings just a little, especially when Ransom begins to scissor the two fingers, stretching his hole out. But the sting fades quickly, and is forgotten Ransom stops scissoring and instead curls his fingers up, gently pressing them into Holster's prostate.

"Oh _fuck_!" Holster exclaims, squeezing his eyes shut as every nerve in his body sizzles in response.

"Feels good bro?" Ransom asks, crooking his fingers up again.

"Oh fuck _yes_ ," Holster gasps, gripping tightly at the bed sheets.

Ransom inserts a third finger, and pleasure mixes with pain as Holster's hole stretches out even more in response. Holster knows it's really been way too long since he got laid by anyone, but then again, that was mostly his own fault for getting hung up on pining for Ransom. At least it's a comfort to know that this likely won't happen again in the future.

Ransom deliberately, methodically finger-fucks Holster, alternating between pumping his fingers in and out, and coiling them up into Holster's prostate. He feels full with three of Ransom's fingers in him, but after a few minutes, it stops feeling like enough, and he's needy for more.

"Rans—I n-need—I'm ready," Holster manages to get out, struggling to speak in the face of the intense pleasure he's feeling.

Ransom withdraws his fingers and Holster, feeling too empty without them, whimpers.

Ransom chuckles as he tears the condom open and rolls it over his length. "Bro, how long has it been since you got laid. You're acting like it's been months—"

"It has been months, thanks to a certain someone," Holster says, glaring at Ransom.

Ransom slathers lube onto his dick, and then looks up at Holster with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye. "I guess we'll just have to make this worth the wait."

"Yeah, definitely bro," Holster replies. He's not sure if he's ready for that—especially since he doesn't know what Ransom means by "make this worth the wait," but he doesn't have time to ponder on it more because the head of Ransom's cock has breached his hole and _fuck_ it hurts.

Holster grimaces. Ransom's cock is _huge_ and the fact of the matter is that no matter how much he prepared, he wasn't going to be fully ready for it. For the moment he'll just have to grit his teeth and ride out the pain.

Ransom bends over and cups his cheek, pulling him into a soft, distracting kiss. "I'm sorry Holtzy," he mumbles (and _God_ does Holster love this man). "Do you want me to stop?"

Holster shakes his head emphatically. He'll deal with it because he doesn't want to stop. "No. Just—keep going."

"Okay," Ransom answers.

Pushing in slowly, Ransom continues to insert his cock, pausing every few seconds to give Holster a break and a chance to catch his breath and adjust. It takes a while, but eventually, while the pain isn't completely gone, it stops hurting so much, pain fading into desire.

"Rans. Rans I'm—I'm now. You can—"

Holster doesn't finish the sentence because Ransom responds by pulling his cock back a short distance and then slowly pushing it back in. It still hurts a lot, and Ransom gives him a look of intense concern, but Holster waves him off before he can even think about stopping, because it hurts less and feels more pleasurable with every thrust.

Ransom slowly builds intensity, pull over a little farther each time, until he's nearly pulled his cock all the way out. He pauses for a second, grinning down at Holster, and then forcefully slams his cock back into him.

" _FUCK!"_ Holster shouts at the incredible wave of pleasure that crashes over him. He'd done this—bottoming—before, but no one he'd been with seemed to be any good at it. Most of the time, he'd come away disappointed.

This time, it's nothing like that. Ransom is thrusting in and out of him, with both incredible speed and force, and every nerve in his body feels as if it's on fire. It's an incredible combination of sensations—the way Ransom's girth stretches his hole, the gentle friction created by Ransom cock thrusting into his hole, the feeling of fullness that Ransom's cock gives, and the intense flashes of pleasure he gets whenever Ransom's cock finds his prostate. To say that Holster is feeling overwhelmed would be an understatement.

It's so much that Holster really isn't even aware of what he's doing. All he can sort of realize is that he's clawing at Ransom's back, trying to brace himself against the almost overpowering thrill his body is experiencing.

Ransom momentarily pauses his thrusting to adjust his grip on Holster's legs, and Holster is grateful for the reprieve. But hardly has he taken a breath when Ransom cock starts pumping in and out of him, and it knocks the breath out of him. It's all he can do to try and breathe, and to fist his hands in the sheets, as every thrust hits his prostate with incredible force.

Holster doesn't believe it's possible to feel any better than he already does, but he's proven wrong when Ransom's hand wraps around his length, jerkily stroking him.

He was close to coming before, but now with Ransom jerking him off, Holster very quickly realizes that it's only a matter of seconds until he comes now.

"R-Rans—" is all Holster manages to get out before the most powerful orgasm of his life comes rushing through him. Most of his muscles begin to spasm, an obscene moan gets ripped from his throat, and he sees stars behind his eyelids as come spurts out and coats his stomach.

Deep in the throes of it, Holster can't really hear Ransom or sense what he's doing.

"Holtzy, Holtzy, ah, ahhhHHHHH!" Ransom cries as Holster's hole contracts around his cock, causing him to come into the condom, his cock still buried in Holster's ass.

Ransom slumps over, resting his forehead on Holster's as he breathes heavily.

His cock slides out of Holster just as Holster begins to come down from his high. He cringes at the pain the loss leaves in its place.

"Shh, don't move," Ransom says, getting up.

He pulls off the condom and tosses it in the trash. Going into the bathroom, he grabs a towel and brings it out, gingerly cleaning Holster off before wiping himself down.

Now that they've had sex in that bed, it's definitely going to be nasty to sleep in, so Ransom pulls back the covers on the other bed. Holster gets up and slowly, carefully climbs in. Crawling in next to him, Ransom lets Holster curl around him before pulling the covers over them.

"Happy…marriage," Holster murmurs sleepily into the crook of Ransom's neck.

"I know it will be," Ransom whispers in reply, placing a kiss on Holster's temple. Exhausted from their intense sex, it's not long until both of them are sound asleep, comfortably spending their first night sleeping together as a married couple.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 _Also Ransom and Holster are both bi and have definitely had sex with other boys before this has been a PSA_


End file.
